


The Way the World is

by Garonne



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio's POV, Fraser/Kowalski established relationship</p><p>Two years post-COTW, Ray Vecchio is back at the 2-7.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Fraser and me, we have a great thing going, a great partnership. For a tiny moment back there I thought this other guy had wriggled in on my turf: Kowalski, the guy who was supposed to be covering for me while I was in Vegas. Hell, him and Fraser even spent a couple of months together up in the frozen wastelands, messing around on dogsleds. But then Fraser wrote that he was coming back to Chicago, back to his old gig at the Consulate. Kowalski got transferred right out of Chicago and we never got wind of him since.</i></p><p> </p><p>Then the consequences of a murder inquiry make RayV start to wonder whether Fraser's keeping secrets from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way the World is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/gifts).



> Stars Ray, Ray and Fraser in fairly equal measure.
> 
> An enormous thank you to Andeincascade for beta-reading.
> 
> This was written for the DS-C6D Big Bang, and Omens has made the most beautiful, evocative art to go with it, [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ds_c6d_bigbang_2013/works/993848)
> 
> I'm a little hazy about what if anything cops can actually do outside their own state... but hey, Fraser seems to manage to operate just fine outside his own _country_ so I think I can get away with it too ;)

.. .. ..

So Fraser's sitting on his ass on the pavement, looking all woozy and like he's about to topple over at any minute, and I'm dropping to my knees beside him, and phoning for backup at the same time.

The perp is cuffed to the handle of the Buick. He's not giving any trouble at the moment, just muttering to himself.

I'm trying to remember first aid training. _What to do in case of a head injury._ How many fingers am I holding up and all that stuff.

Fraser's got a nasty looking bruise coming up fast on one side of his forehead, from where the perp whacked him over the head with a length of metal piping. But at the moment I'm more concerned about his eyes, which are all weird and glazed-looking.

 _Place the victim in a seated or supine position._ Check. _Do not offer water._ Right, wasn't going to anyway. _Loosen clothing._ I get his belt open and his collar undone, and loosen the lanyard thing for good measure. He's so out of it he doesn't even object to me messing with his precious uniform, and that worries me more than the funny eyes do.

"You okay there, Benny?" _Ask simple questions to ascertain the gravity of the injury._ "You remember what day it is, that kind of thing?"

Fraser blinks at me. After a minute he raises his hand slowly to the bump on his head, and grimaces.

"Benny?" I say again, and this time he focusses on me.

"Yes, Ray?"

He's starting to look better already, not so much like a guy who's about to put himself in a supine position all by himself.

I take him through a couple of what's-the-capital-of-Canada type questions, and by the end of it he's almost back to himself again, and sounding pissy.

"I'm perfectly fine, Ray, really." He sort of pushes at me, like he wants to get up, and I hold him down.

I hear the squad car turn the corner then, and I'm about to turn and watch it come up the street.

That's when I see it. It's just visible under his tunic, where I undid his collar: a plain gold ring on some sort of thin cord, hanging around his neck. It looks a lot like a wedding ring, and I think it must have belonged to one of his parents. Never noticed it before.

But that's when things get weird. He sees me looking, and his hand goes straight to his throat. And suddenly, right before my eyes, he's turned into a man with something to hide. He's meeting my gaze, of course, but he's got guilt written all over him.

Then the uniforms are jumping out of their Plymouth, and one of them's Malley, that dickhead from the 3-1 who has a lame joke for every situation. I spend the next few minutes fending him off, and dumping the perp on him and his partner.

By the time I drag Fraser to the hospital with me to get his head looked at, his uniform's all buttoned up again and the ring's disappeared.

.. .. ..

The next day, we spend most of our time rattling heads together on the Southside, looking for one Johnny the Whip, small-time drug dealer and maybe big-time murderer, ever since the body of the guy he shared a room with turned up in Jackson Park with a knife in his back. Looks like the crack on the head didn't do Fraser much damage, because he has a brainwave at around four in the afternoon, and we track Johnny down in his ex-wife's sister's boyfriend's basement. Johnny doesn't take too kindly to us turning up on his doorstep, but the ex-wife's sister's there too, and it turns out she's willing to tell us all about the bloody t-shirt she found messing up the rest of her laundry two days ago. So Johnny's off to spend a night in the holding cells, and me and Fraser are back at his place in time for dinner and the Hawks game.

Fraser and me, we make a hell of a good team. Ever since I got back from Florida, and he got back from snow-shoeing around the Yukon looking for some guy called Franklin, we've been topping the solve rate statistics at the 2-7. Just like old times -- better than old times, actually. He's a bit looser than he was back then, a bit more relaxed, and me... Well, I'm not gonna talk about Vegas, but anyway, I can't say it didn't change me. At one point, I didn't think I'd be able to stand the sight of a gun ever again. Hence the whole bowling alley idea. That didn't turn out to be quite what I'd been imagining, and neither did Stella. I came skulking back to the 2-7 again, wondering whether I'd ever be able to get my nerve back. Not to get too gushy about it, but Fraser was a life-saver. After I got through all that, it ended up feeling like we were closer than ever.

We phone for pizza, and what do you know, it actually arrives in twenty minutes like they promise. I pay off the pizza guy, after a bit of chitchat about the game tonight. Fraser comes back out of the kitchen carrying a knife, because he hates it when the cheese isn't cut properly and the slices stick together. He's in a shirt and suspenders and I just can't help it. My eyes go right to his neck -- his bare neck.

He notices, of course, and stops dead. He's just standing there, looking at me. Then he puts his free hand in his pocket and pulls something out. There it is, the ring I saw yesterday, dangling on a thread from his fingers.

Suddenly, it hits me that if I've never seen it before, it's because he must take it off every time he takes off his tunic or tie. And now I know for sure it's not his Mom's or Dad's.

"It's a wedding ring, right?" I say.

He's got this nasty, stiff thing going on with his face, and his eyes are like - wow, sadness and regret and maybe pain.

My brain is going _What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?_

Then suddenly it hits me. If he's married, it must have been while I was in Vegas. And the chick -- God, she must have died, because I really can't see Fraser leaving a woman any other way. Or else something went horribly wrong and she left him. I can kind of see now why he's never ever talked about it.

"Fraser -- " I start, and he cuts across me right off the bat.

"I'm sorry, Ray, I -- Please, I'd rather not talk about it."

He's just standing there, looking like I'm breaking his heart. I sit right back down on the sofa.

"Come on, Benny. Come eat some pizza."

.. .. ..

The next day is Sunday, and I don't see Fraser at all. That's my day for making Ma happy: Mass, lunch, take Frannie and her stroller and bump for a walk in the park. It's Fraser's day for getting out of the city with Dief, if we haven't got any urgent case on. He's never tried to persuade me to come, thank God. I would do almost anything for Fraser, but tramping around a national park in clumpy boots tops the short list of things I just won't do.

The next day we find that persons unknown spent _their_ Sunday evening setting fire to a series of warehouses in the old meat-packing district, and it's business as usual.

Fraser and me, we have a great thing going, a great partnership. We've been working together almost four years now, with a two-year gap in the middle that we didn't choose. For a tiny moment back there I thought this other guy had wriggled in on my turf: Kowalski, the guy who was supposed to be covering for me while I was in Vegas. Hell, him and Fraser even spent a couple of month together up in the frozen wastelands, messing around on dogsleds, while I was making a fool of myself with the guy's ex-wife in Florida. Yeah, Stella divorced Kowalski before divorcing me. Long story, ask me about it some other time.

Anyway, then Fraser wrote that he was coming back to Chicago, back to his old gig at the Consulate. Kowalski got transferred right out of Chicago and we never got wind of him since.

The warehouse fires turn out to be insurance fraud, but by that time we're already deep in an investigation that began when Fraser noticed a strange smell in the basement of his apartment block. A 'camphoric' smell, according to him, and I get worried when he says camphor is sometimes used as an embalming fluid. This time, thank God, it turns out a city-wide gang of mink-stole smugglers have had the bright idea to use it as a moth-repellant.

And yeah, Fraser has his own apartment again now, on South Harrison. When I was in Vegas he was sleeping at the Canadian Consulate, which -- what the hell? I did something about that as soon as we were both settled back in Chicago together. He ended up in a place far scummier than any of them on the list of possibilities I dug up for him, but at least I was around to make sure he had his own bath and john this time.

Sometimes I wonder what he'd do without me. God knows how he got on when I wasn't around. Not that I'm kidding myself that Fraser needs me more than I need him. Fraser's pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me -- not that I would ever tell him that.

.. .. ..

A couple of months later we draw the homicide short straw: mid-thirties Caucasian female in Lincoln Park. More precisely, in a small clump of trees -- copse, says Fraser -- by the South Pond. CSI have already got her covered up by the time we get there, because it's raining. I get them to pull off the plastic for a minute so we can take a look. She's lying on her back -- gunshot wound in the chest, they tell me, and I can see that for myself, no problem. Fake leather miniskirt, real leather jacket but it's worn at the elbows, red suede boots that are ruined now with the rain and the mud. Not a hooker, I think, but not exactly a member of the Union League Club either. She's got long black hair flowing round her face, and she must have been a looker when she was alive and smiling. I don't like homicides.

"ID?" I ask.

The CSI guy nods, holding up a plastic bag covered in rain drops, containing a woman's purse.

"Linda Holburn. Indiana driver's license. Garcia is running a check now."

I'm about to turn and ask Fraser what he thinks when one of the uniforms comes up, cellphone in hand.

"Guess what?" he says. "There's an APB out on the vic. Seems her boyfriend turned up dead in Gary two days ago."

He hands me a raindrop-spotted sheet of paper where he's scrawled a case number and the phone number of a Detective Jackson.

"Maybe you guys can palm this one off on Gary PD," the tech says.

I snort. "Yeah, like I should be so lucky."

I turn to Fraser, suddenly realizing that he's been keeping weirdly silent. He looks funny too -- he's gone stiff all over, and he's not meeting my eye.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to liaise with you on this case," he says, before I can ask him if he's okay. "I have a number of duties -- this week at the Consulate -- "

He's turned away from me, looking at his watch like he's just remembered an urgent appointment. I can't see his face but his voice has me freaking out. 

"Fraser, what the hell?" Because I know as well as he does that he was free pretty much all week.

He turns back to me, and now he looks normal again, like he just needed time to get his face back under control or something. He clears his throat.

"I'm very sorry, Ray."

"What sort of duties?" I demand, and he doesn't say anything, just whips his hand away from his eyebrow, like he only just noticed he was rubbing it, and puts his hand behind his back.

I grab his elbow and drag him away from the crime-scene techs.

"Benny, what's going on?"

"Nothing, Ray. I simply -- " He swallows. "I'll make my own way back to the Consulate."

And he takes off across the park, Dief bounding after him. I want to follow him too, but the CSI guy's calling me back over to the body, and I let Fraser go.

It was already late afternoon when we got called out to Lincoln Park, and I spend the rest of the day getting started on the investigation. First twenty-four hours are the most crucial and all that. Part of me is pissed off at Fraser, because I'm having to do it all alone. Most of me is just worried about him, though.

But I don't have time to even think much about Fraser until after nine that evening, when I finally call it a day and head home.

Ma has left dinner on the stove. It's her bridge evening. That's what she calls it anyway, since she does have a cop for a son, but I know old Mrs Bellucci has a weekly poker tournament going.

Dinner is zucchini risotto, and I eat slowly, thinking about Fraser's little freak-out at the park this afternoon. What was so special about this case that he had to run out on me like that?

In my head I can still see the woman's face, her eyes shut by the crime-scene techs, her mouth open as though she'd been calling out when she died. Her long back hair.

The memory of that bitch Metcalf surfaces, like it always does, and I wonder whether there's something there, some connection in Fraser's head. But I know that's just my paranoia. Sometimes I think that woman scarred me far worse than she ever did Fraser.

There's still something up with Fraser, though. For a second I wonder whether Fraser actually knew the woman, Linda Holburn. But he would have said something, right? I mean, a thing like that, that's relevant as hell to the investigation. Yeah, he definitely would have said something. Wouldn't he? The Metcalf case drifts into my mind again, the moment when I discovered that Fraser isn't perfect -- the moment I've been trying to forget ever since.

No, I can't believe Fraser's suppressing information in a murder inquiry. I'd rather believe he's got his own, personal reasons for getting freaked out.

I haven't forgotten that ring I saw round his neck, even if that was three months ago and I haven't seen it since. Never brought it up again either, of course.

But in my head there's a woman, and I've always thought she must be dead now, because why else can Fraser not bear to mention her? How did she die? Maybe something like our victim in Lincoln Park this morning. What did she look like? Maybe something like that too.

I know I'm building up a fancy theory on very little in the way of facts, but that's where a cop's instinct comes in. And I got good instincts. Now I just got to investigate.

Of course, I've read all Kowalski's case notes from the years he was me, but he's just about as good as I am at keeping them. I go to sleep thinking that maybe tomorrow I'll dig his notes out again anyway.

Next morning, I get in early, but Fraser's clearly already up and about too. There's a 'while you were out' note on my desk, saying that he rang at an even more ungodly hour to say he wouldn't be able to make it in to the station today either.

 _Says he apologizes for 'leaving you in the lurch',_ the night shift guy who took the message has written.

I crumple up the note and drop it in the trashcan.

Then I sit down at my desk and come up with a plan of action for the day, which starts with me slogging through the pile of case notes sent over from Gary last night, on the investigation into the murder of Linda Holburn's boyfriend. Which would be Fraser's job, normally. I hate this kind of work, and I haven't got very far by the time it's finally eight thirty and I can go down and charm the redhead in Records.

I pull Fraser's file and take it back upstairs to study. I've already seen it a couple of times, for one reason or another. It's mostly full of all the reprimands he's written for himself over the years. Now I'm looking for something different.

There's no copy of a marriage license in there, though. No trace that he once had a wife to contact in case of emergency. Nothing like that. But then there isn't very much proper paperwork in there at all, so that's maybe just down to the fact he doesn't actually work for Chicago PD.

The bullpen is starting to fill up now. I keep my head down, trying to plow through the case notes from Gary PD. I'm not getting on too well, because half my brain's starting to think about tracking Fraser's old partner Kowalski down and trying to get some answers out of him.

Feels like spying, though. As if going through his file wasn't already bad enough. If Fraser doesn't want to work the case and he doesn't want to say why, I should just respect that, right? Or not? Or maybe I should be figuring all this out, so he can come sob on my shoulder the way I did on his. I groan and drop my head in my hands.

"Hung over, Vecchio?" Welsh says unsympathetically as he walks past.

My head snaps up. It's suddenly occurred to me, bright guy that I am, that Kowalski's not the only one who was around for those years while I was in Vegas. Welsh was, half the bullpen was -- hell, even my kid sister has to have known some of the stuff that went down.

But on second thoughts -- no. No way am I going to ask anyone about anything. I've never been able to stand the way I'm missing part of my life, and I know I can't bring myself to ask someone else to fill me in.

Right. Concentrate on the Marquette Park case. That's what I'm calling it in my head, because that's where the victim was found. The guy -- my victim's boyfriend -- is called Hudson Delaney. 41 years old, 5 foot 11, 178 pounds, African-American male, Gary resident. Gunshot wound to the chest. Coincidence or not? I should find out sometime this morning whether it's the same gun as was used to shoot his girlfriend in the same part of the body.

The Gary detectives have already got a good start on the case. Transcript of an interview with the guy's room-mate, another interview with his boss -- the guy worked nights at a 24-hour gas station on the Indiana Toll Road, alone, and his boss hardly knew him. A copy of the APB for his girlfriend, Holburn, who hadn't been seen since the day he turned up dead. Well, now she's two floors below me in the morgue, but I've got to trace her footsteps backwards over the past three days.

No known criminal connections for either of the victims, and that always makes the job harder. I start going back through the files, trying to decide what'll have to be done again now that we've got a second stiff.

That's when I notice the name of the officer in charge, up top of the interview report I'm reading. It's a scrawled R. Kowalski. 

I flip back through the faxed pages. The guy with his name all over them is Will Jackson, the detective out in Gary I spoke to on the phone last night. But here and there, there's a second name, his partner I guess, and it's Kowalski. There's even a phone number.

For a second or two, I think there's something hinky about the coincidence. Then I decide it's more like a sign from heaven. I reach for the phone.

He picks up almost immediately.

"Kowalski."

"It's Ray Vecchio, at the 2-7."

There's a split second of silence, and then he says, "Christ, what's happened?"

He sounds weird -- no, more like he sounds scared out of his wits.

"What do you mean, what's happened?"

There's another pause, and then he says in a completely different voice, "Nothing, thinking of something else. What do you want?"

"Want to ask you a couple of questions."

I can hear paper rustling on his desk.

"I'm kinda busy right now," he says, and then straight after, "What sort of questions?"

"You remember the Mountie?"

I know it's a dumb thing to say as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I mean, I don't remember every single person I worked with over the past twenty years, but who the hell could forget the Mountie? And hell, this guy even spent a few months up in the Arctic with Benny, back when they were partners.

Weirdly enough, Kowalski still isn't saying anything.

"I mean, it's about Fraser," I add.

"What about him? Something happened to him?"

"No, just -- I have a coupla questions about something that happened while you guys were partners."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Kowalski is starting to sound pretty aggressive now. From what I remember from the few times we've met, aggressive is pretty much his standard state. It isn't easy, talking to this guy I barely know. I don't say anything, because if he knew Benny at all he knows that sometimes you just can't ask him, sometimes getting blood from a stone would be child's play in comparison.

Kowalski sighs, very softly but I hear it all the same. "Okay look, keep it short, because I gotta be in court in half an hour."

'Course it isn't as easy as all that to begin.

"How about we meet up someplace instead?"

That gets me another silence.

Then to my surprise, Kowalski caves right in.

"Okay, meet me this evening at that hockey bar on the corner of Madison and Lasalle. Uh, seven thirty, okay."

"Okay," I say, and he hangs up.

That's when I realize that I also have a string of questions for him about the Marquette Park case. But I cop out, and ring his partner Jackson instead.

I arrive a couple of minutes early that evening, but Kowalski is already there, sitting in one of the booths with his hands wrapped around a beer glass. I slide into the seat opposite him. 

Kowalski's a skinny blond with the dress sense of a hobo. He's sitting sprawled back in his seat, watching me without saying anything.

I've never liked the guy; he makes me uncomfortable. I guess I don't like the way he knows Stella and he knows Fraser, and yet I don't know exactly _how_ well, because neither of them ever speak about him. Okay, yeah, he obviously knows Stella pretty damn well, but that's not the point. The point is, I don't like the feeling of not being in control.

Plus, I don't like the fact that he knows _me_ pretty damn well too, maybe better than anyone else knows me. And I don't know him at all. I've only seen him a couple of times in my life.

What can I say? Absolutely everything about the guy creeps me out.

I order a Scotch, and turn back to Kowalski.

"So, you're out in Gary now, huh? Chicago get too much for you?"

That gets me something that's closer to a snarl than a grin, and I remember I should be buttering him up, not pissing him off.

I clear my throat. Better to cut straight to the chase. Doesn't look like either of us want to sit around all night shooting the breeze.

"Okay, so -- It's about Fraser."

"Yeah, you said."

"When you guys were partners -- when I wasn't around -- " It sounds stupid, now, this far-fetched house of cards I've built in my head. I spit it out. "He ever been married?"

Kowalski just sits there for a minute, his face unmoving. Finally he says, "Why d'you ask?"

So I tell him about Fraser's little freak-out in Lincoln Park yesterday, and about the victim. I even tell him about the ring. I feel like a complete traitor. But he and Fraser were close once, right? I mean, that's the whole reason I'm talking to him about this. And if I'm ever to help Fraser...

"... so all I can figure is, he's got some nasty memories resurfacing. I mean, I'd already figured out that if he _was_ married, his wife must have died, somehow. Probably. And if she died the way our victim did -- "

Kowalski is just sitting there staring at me, like he's having trouble following the conversation. He still hasn't answered my question.

"So what happened, while you guys were partners? Did he get married?"

"While you were in Vegas? No."

"You sure?"

"I'd have known, okay?"

"So there wasn't a woman?"

That gets a laugh out of him. 

"Course there were women. You think Fraser could go two years without a single woman throwing herself round his neck?"

"But no one -- ?"

"No one managed to cling on for very long, no."

He drains the last of his beer and calls for another. I'm sitting there trying to get things straight in my head.

"So what's the deal with the ring?" I demand after a minute.

Kowalski is glowering now. 

"How the hell should I know? Why're you asking me?"

"Hey, you're the guy who was claiming to know him so well just a minute ago."

"Yeah, yeah, right." He relaxes again. "Look, about him high-tailing it off to the Consulate -- you sure it's because of this stiff? You sure it wasn't when he heard about the connection to Gary?"

I squint into my drink, running through yesterday's events again in my mind. And yeah, maybe he's got a point. And how the hell did he figure that one out? I look up sharply at him.

He's looking back at me. Weird, calm sort of expression on his face.

"It's because of me, okay? Fraser doesn't want to work the case because he doesn't want to risk having to work with me."

It takes me a minute to switch gears. That came out of left field.

"Doesn't want -- Why, what the fuck did you do to him?"

Kowalski doesn't say anything. He's looking at me like we're just discussing the weather or something. Except for his eyes. He can't control his eyes, and there's something weird going on in them, like I'm torturing him or something. And I feel a little bit guilty, but hell, if he did something bad to Benny, he deserves every bit of it.

My mind's racing, trying to work out what the fuck Kowalski could have done to make Fraser hate him so much he doesn't even want to see him again. Fraser didn't seem particularly cut up about anything when he came back from his arctic adventure with Kowalski. Though God knows I was in such bad shape those days, after Vegas and after Stella, that I might not even have noticed.

"What the fuck happened up there on the ice?" I say again.

Kowalski gives me this long, hard look, and suddenly I believe everyone who says he's a good cop. Good in interrogations, anyway -- good at intimidation.

"Don't push it, Vecchio. You won't be doing Fraser any favors."

And that's all I manage to get out of him that evening.

.. .. ..

The next morning I'm at work bright and early again. Feels like I'm starting to develop a bad habit.

I end up spending half the morning on the phone with Kowalski's partner Jackson. I spend the afternoon in court for another case, and drive out to Linda Holburn's last known address in the early evening. Turns out she moved out six months before, and got replaced by a guy who's six foot four, weighs about twice what I do and isn't too hot about being dragged away from his comfy sofa during Friday Night Smackdown. Plus, I'd bet my Cubs season ticket that illegal substances were being consumed on the aforementioned couch, your honor. For a while there it looks like he's hesitating between putting me in touch with his landlord and throwing me down the stairs, but I wave my badge around a bit, and in the end I escape with my skin and a phone number.

I look at my watch as I'm heading back into town, and decide it's still early enough to head over to Fraser's place before he goes to bed. Which means it's gotta be before ten, since this is Fraser we're talking about.

I get a big smile when he answers the door.

"It's good to see you, Ray. I'd been afraid, well, that you must be rather cross with me for leaving you in the lurch like that."

"Hey, I'm not a man to hold a grudge, Benny," I say, even though I am. But never against Fraser.

He offers me one of the beers he keeps in the fridge for me, but I wave him off.

I let myself fall onto his sofa, and watch him come back from the kitchen to join me.

"Dief not around?" I say, just so I can watch Fraser purse his lips disapprovingly.

"Diefenbaker has spent the past three nights making a spectacle of himself pursuing Mrs Willis' collie." He sighs. "I don't expect to see him tonight at all."

"Hey, go Dief," I say, and tease a reluctant smile out of Fraser.

"I suppose I can't blame him for following his instincts."

He sits down opposite me, and I lean forward, remembering why I'm here.

"So listen, Benny, about my case," I say. "You could still come back and work it with me, you know. I'm sure we could figure it so you never had to work with that bastard Kowalski."

I don't think I've ever seen Fraser so gobsmacked. His face is frozen solid and he's just staring at me, open-mouthed. In fact, he isn't just surprised. He looks more like I've punched him in the gut without warning.

"Kowalski?" he says, finally.

"Yeah, like I said, don't worry about him."

"You mean Ray Kowalski?" he says again. And somehow he's got himself under control. Now, it's just like he's surprised I know him or something.

And obviously he's not thinking straight, because hey, of course I've heard of Kowalski. I even married the guy's ex-wife.

"Yeah, him. It's too bad for us he's on the case too, but like I said, I can handle any contact with him. I know you'd rather not -- He told me what he did to you."

Fraser's still staring at me like I just landed from Mars.

"He did?"

I think back over our conversation. "Okay, not exactly. But look, Fraser, if you hate the guy's guts, I don't need the details to hate him too. You're my friend, Benny, that's enough."

Fraser stiffens right up at that.

"I think very highly of Detective Kowalski."

He says that in the weirdest possible voice. Not in a don't-insult-the-uniform sort of voice, but more in a don't-hit-small-children sort of voice.

I stare at him, caught off balance. 

"You do?"

He nods firmly.

"Detective Kowalski is one of the finest police officers I have ever had the pleasure to work with, and one of the best and most good-hearted men I have ever known."

I'm unsettled now, and I end up laughing out loud. "What are you, in love with him or something?"

It's a joke, of course it's a joke, but when I see Fraser's face -- 

We just sit there, looking at each other, and Fraser's nodding at me, and I feel like maybe I _have_ just landed on another planet. I'm not in the same universe I was in half an hour ago, that's for sure.

"Uh," I say.

Fraser is looking at me warily.

My head is spinning. Fraser is in love, okay fine. Great, even. With a guy... okay, it's not like I haven't wondered, once or twice. But with fucking _Kowalski_?

"Okay," I say out loud. "Okay, right. So I guess -- "

My mind is racing out ahead of my tongue. Okay, so Fraser's got a thing for Kowalski, or used to, anyway, because he sure must have more or less gotten over it by now, two years later. I think back over my conversation with Kowalski, him saying he was absolutely sure Fraser hadn't had the hots for any woman while they were working together. I guess Fraser tried to make some kind of move on Kowalski, probably in the stiffest, most awkward way possible -- don't really want to imagine the scene, thanks. Anyway, I guess Kowalski reacted badly, the bastard. They came back down from the North, pronto, and Kowalski swore he never wanted to lay eyes on Fraser again, and now Fraser's afraid to go near him. Jesus, Fraser sure does have a talent for falling in love with the worst assholes.

"This is fucking wrong," I say, and Fraser recoils like I just slapped him in the face.

"Not you, Benny," I add, hastily. "I'm talking about that creep Kowalski. I guess he wasn't too happy to have his partner make a pass at him, right? Well too bad for him. You can't let that stop you working with Gary PD, Benny. He'll just have to get over himself and get a little professionalism."

Saying that, I'm not really sure how I would have reacted if Fraser had made a pass at _me_. But that isn't going to stop me whaling on Kowalski.

Fraser's eyes widen. He's got the weirdest expression on his face, like he doesn't know whether to relax or not.

"So you don't -- " He comes to a stop in the middle of the sentence.

Suddenly I realize that he was expecting me to freak out over the whole my-partner-is-gay thing.

"Relax, Benny," I say. "I mean, if you _had_ to go for a guy, I kinda woulda preferred it was a _different_ guy, but hey... Anyway, it's all in the past, right?"

Fraser doesn't say anything, and I realize I'm maybe being a bit insensitive, as Frannie would put it. Fraser's obviously still carrying a torch for the guy. Jeez, is he a glutton for punishment or what? I mean Christ, the world is full of lovely people who would be delighted to throw themselves around his neck.

Fraser is looking down at the shiny brown tips of his boots now.

"Ray, I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you," he tells them.

"Yeah, I noticed."

I wish he'd relax a bit, and stop looking like I'm about to kick him in the balls or something.

"No, there's more." He looks up at me. God, he's looking me straight in the eye. I don't like this. "I've been misleading -- In fact I -- " He takes a deep breath and spits it out. "Ray Kowalski and I have been married for the past two years."

For a minute all I can do is stare at him. Finally, I say flatly, "That's not even possible."

"In Canada it is."

He's looking at me anxiously. He's right to be anxious, dammit. Two years, two fucking years... My throat is burning, like there's bile flowing back up from my stomach, and I don't even understand quite why I'm so angry.

I'm surprised by how calm my voice is when I speak.

"And you were going to tell me about this when, exactly?"

Fraser swallows. "I wasn't sure how you'd -- "

"How I'd what?" My voice is rising now. "How'd I'd react to the news my best friend is fucking some mangy Polack? Or how I'd react to the fact he's been fucking. Hiding. It. From. Me. For. Years?"

Fraser looks like he's trying very, very hard indeed to remain calm.

"I couldn't be sure how you'd react, Ray. After all, you've made your views on homosexuality known to me on more than one occasion."

"What?" That brings me up short for a second, and I try to think back. Okay, maybe I've made my share of faggot jokes over the years. How was I supposed to know Fraser was one? 

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I realize what I've just said in my head. What I just called Benny. Shit. My stomach twists with guilt, and that just makes me shout again.

"What's that supposed to mean? My views on -- What, you think I was gonna throw you out or something? Jeez, thanks, Fraser. Way to give me a vote of confidence."

And I don't know whether what I'm saying is actually true or not. I don't know how I would have reacted -- haven't had time to think about it. But I'm still shouting at him anyway, 'cause I'm the one in the right here, and Fraser is so fucking wrong it's not even funny. Two years! Two whole years he's got this whole 'nother life.

My stomach's burning just thinking about it. Two years ago, I was spilling my guts to Fraser. Vegas, Stella, everything. Mostly Vegas, really. Fraser was letting me cry my heart out on his shoulder -- metaphorically, I mean, though God knows I came close at times. And then he was going home to Kowalski at night and I knew fucking nothing about it.

Fraser's got this horrible pinched look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't want Ray to -- "

"You call him Ray?" I yell.

Fraser looks unreasonably put out by this. "It is his name."

 _I'm_ Ray, I just manage to stop myself yelling. I bite my tongue instead. Kowalski gets flipping everyone. Kowalski had Stella, for way, way longer than me. Kowalski's got Fraser. Who have I got?

Suddenly I realize I'm on my feet now, and so is Fraser.

I take a deep breath and collapse back onto the sofa.

"Fraser, sit," I say, and Fraser sits.

For a couple of minutes we just sit there, me with my head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and Fraser bolt upright beside me.

After a bit I speak up, without turning my head. "Okay, look. We've got a dead girl in Lincoln Park and I spent today all by myself, and my feet hurt. Either you come back on the case, or -- " I don't want to think about 'or', so I stop the sentence right there and start another. "Tomorrow I'm going out to Gary and you're coming with me, okay?"

Fraser doesn't answer straight away, and I resist the urge to turn my head.

Finally he says, "All right, Ray."

Something inside me relaxes when he says that. Even though that's stupid, because it's _him_ who should be begging _me_ to take him back.

I rub a hand across my eyes and get to my feet. 

"I'm gonna go now."

Fraser stands too, and goes to get my coat, because of course good manners are the most important thing right now, it seems. Me, I can't even seem to think straight.

That night, I just can't get to sleep. I'm lying there in bed, everything going round and round in my head until I want to scream.

I don't know what makes me the most crazy.

Is it just because Kowalski's a guy? I mean, back when I thought Benny had a dead wife he wasn't telling me about, I wasn't reacting like this. But that wasn't the same. Him having some secret sorrow, something buried in the past, painful memories he doesn't want to dig up again -- that I can understand. That's nothing like pretty much lying to me every single day.

Is it because it's Kowalski? I never even thought about the guy much before this week, except to be glad he was off the scene. Now, I think I'd be happier to see Fraser with any random girl or even guy than with Kowalski.

I think of those stupid daydreams I used to have sometimes, where me and Fraser would go on double dates with two gorgeous, warm and friendly women -- sometimes I was with Stella, but even in my daydreams I'm usually more realistic than that. But anyway, those dreams were great. I was happy, Fraser was happy, the ladies were always fucking delighted to have met us... I even mentioned those daydreams to Fraser a couple of times, in a vague sort of way. He must have been laughing his head off at me sometimes. God, I could kill him.

Okay, of course I know he wasn't laughing at me really. He was probably in agonies of guilt. But not guilty enough.

Fraser knows all about me. I spilled my guts to him about Vegas, and he -- fuck, I just can't get it out of my head that all the while he was making friendly with Kowalski and I didn't know anything about it.

I sit up in bed and punch my pillow into shape. Turn over onto my other side, but I still can't seem to settle. Now I'm thinking of Benny and Kowalski together. In the cabin that _I_ helped him rebuild.

I wish I had something better than my pillow to punch.

.. .. ..

I pick Fraser up at his place the next morning. He's on his best behavior. He hasn't even brought the wolf. Though maybe that's because Dief's still out sowing wild oats, and not because Fraser's thinking of my leather upholstery.

"Thank you kindly for the lift, Ray," Fraser says as soon as he gets into the car.

"Yeah, okay. Just because we're working together doesn't mean I forgive you, okay?"

He nods, his lips pressed tightly together, and I feel bad. Then I get angry, because I'm the one in the right here, and why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?

On the drive out to Gary, I fill him in on the details of what I turned up the day before, which is pretty close to zilch.

I've never been to Jackson and Kowalski's precinct before, but I find it without too much trouble. Kowalski and another guy are in the middle of the bullpen, bent over an open file Kowalski's holding. The other guy notices us first, and grins.

"Hi, you're Vecchio, right?" he says, so I guess he's Jackson. "So this is the Mountie?"

Fraser shakes his hand. Kowalski nods at both of us without saying anything.

"You guys are just in time," Jackson says. "We turned this up -- " He pulls a sheet of paper out of Kowalski's hands and holds it up. " -- this morning."

It's a rap sheet, and the face looks familiar.

"Mr Delaney's roommate, Samuel Allen," says Fraser, because of course he spent the drive over here speed-reading and memorizing the case files.

"Close but no cigar," Jackson says. "It's his brother Michael. Three arrests, one conviction. Minor-league stuff, but with links to organized crime. Specifically links to one particular Adam A.J. Lacey, who controls something like 90% of Gary's imports and exports, so to speak."

The trail of names is making my head spin. Now we're talking about my victim's boyfriend's roommate's brother's underworld boss. Plus I'm busy eying up Kowalski and Fraser out of the corner of my eye, and that's distracting. They seem to be pretty much ignoring each other, though.

"And you believe there may be a connection?" Fraser asks, while the rest of his brain is busy doing the speed-reading thing on the rap sheet.

"Maybe, maybe not," Jackson says. "But time spent shaking down A.J. Lacey's underlings is never time wasted."

"So let's go crack some heads together," says Kowalski, bouncing on the spot like the rest of us are holding him back.

We don't know the city, so we let them take care of the head-bashing, while we go visit Delaney's apartment block, try to talk to the neighbors. Gary PD have already been through the place once, of course, but this time we've got Delaney's girlfriend's photo with us.

It's a crummy block in a crummy neighborhood, and Fraser's feeling right at home, of course. Hardly anybody's answering the door to us, though. It's like they've got some kind of cop-radar hooked up outside their apartments.

Finally we strike gold -- or more like retirement-age biddy in overalls. She's got a pair of thick glasses perched on top of her blue-dyed curls, and she pulls them down to look at us, and then at the photo of Delaney's girlfriend Holburn.

"Yeah, she's always around. Sits up on the roof smoking. She's on the fourth floor with her boyfriend, that man, what's his name..."

"Hudson Delaney?" I say.

"Yeah, maybe."

I'm about to ask her whether she's seen any signs of trouble between them, when Fraser interrupts me.

"Is this the man you mean, ma'am?" he says, and he's holding up Delaney's photograph.

She shakes her head.

"No, not him. Might have seen him in the stairs once or twice too though."

Fraser and I exchange glances. Fraser gets out the shot of Delaney's roommate Samuel Allen.

"This the guy?" I say.

She beams at us. "That's him! Now what's his name again..."

"You trying to tell us that these two -- " I hold out Laura Holburn and Samuel Allen " -- were in a romantic relationship?"

"Romantic relationship," she sniffs. "Hah. All I know is whenever I go up to the roof to hang out my laundry, they're always there cuddling and canoodling. Getting cigarette smoke on my clean sheets."

"And this guy?" I hold up Hudson Delaney again.

"No, he doesn't smoke."

"Look, lady -- " I start, but Fraser steps in.

"What else can you tell us about this individual, ma'am?"

"I've seen him around a couple of times, that's all."

Even Fraser's charm can't get much more out of her, and we end up wishing her a good day, and thank you ever so kindly, ma'am.

"Good catch, Benny," I say once she's shut her door behind her.

He gives me a little smile, and I suddenly remember I'm mad at him.

I frown and look away. Concentrate on the case, Ray.

"So who's been lying?" I say.

"Samuel Allen, it would appear. Perhaps we should pay him a visit."

We head straight up to the fourth floor, even though we don't have a warrant yet, but he's not home anyway.

It's early afternoon when we get back to the station, and Jackson and Kowalski are just coming out. So what do you know, we all end up going out to eat lunch together at this Vietnamese place round the corner.

Jackson and Kowalski think the mob connection is looking promising.

"Sounds like a coupla people got whacked this week," says Kowalski. "Don't know who, don't know why. Could be our two stiffs."

"Could be any two stiffs," I say, because I really don't want there to be a mob connection. "It's not like there was a shortage of dead bodies in this city this week."

"Shortage, no." Kowalski's frowning at me. "But how many of them you think we can link back to the mob -- straight back to the mob?"

But I just don't like mob cases, okay? Please don't let this be a mob case. I don't say that aloud, though.

"In any case, there's definitely something hinky about Samuel Allen," I say.

I let Fraser fill in the details, while I watch Kowalski.

Me and Fraser are sitting together, and Jackson and Kowalski opposite. Benny and Kowalski have hardly exchanged a glance or a word all day. Kowalski's looking at his half-empty plate now while Benny talks.

"We'll need an Indiana warrant for Mr Allen's apartment," Fraser says finally. "If you could help us with that, we'd be very grateful."

"Get one for you this afternoon," Kowalski says without looking up.

"Sure thing," says Jackson, and pushes away his empty plate. "So, Constable Fraser, I'm dying of curiosity here. How the hell'd you end up in Chicago?"

That afternoon we pair up differently, one Indiana cop in each team. Me and Jackson to visit a few more of Michael Allen's shady acquaintances, Fraser and Kowalski to get a warrant to search the apartment Samuel Allen and Hudson Delaney shared. Fraser and Kowalski didn't fix things like that, Jackson did, more or less at random. I'm okay with that though. I don't really want to be stuck with Kowalski right now. And I feel sort of weird about Fraser being with Kowalski, but... well, I guess he often is, without me knowing it.

At the end of the day we head back to Kowalski and Jackson's station. Jackson takes off as soon as the hour hand hits six o'clock. Apparently he's got a teething baby at home and another on the way. That leaves me, Fraser and Kowalski standing in the middle of the bullpen, looking at each other.

Or at least, I'm looking at both of them. Fraser is tidying papers on Kowalski's desk, the way he does on mine, the way he must have done back when they were partners. Kowalski's rooting around in a desk drawer, and he's been at it so long I'm pretty sure he's not actually looking for anything.

"You wanna get a pizza or something?" I say.

Fraser looks up, and suddenly it occurs to me that maybe they were waiting for me to get lost so they could take off together.

They see each other what, once a week? If that. What kind of a relationship is that? Suddenly I realize that if it wasn't for me, they could be seeing each other more often than that, and still keeping things under wraps from everyone else.

What, was one of the conditions of the -- the thing, the marriage, that Fraser got to keep being friends with me? And Kowalski accepted that?

But then Fraser smiles.

"I'd like that, Ray."

"Kowalski?" I say.

He looks up so fast it's like he's been waiting to pounce on me or something.

"What?"

I know he heard what I said before, so I just keep looking at him.

Kowalski gives Fraser this tiny, almost imperceptible glance before nodding. "Yeah, sure."

He pulls out the toothpick he's been chewing on -- God, he's as bad as Fraser about putting stuff in his mouth, but I don't really wanna go there right now -- and tosses it in the wastebasket.

"Fraser's place," he says, picking up his jacket.

Kowalski knows exactly where it is, of course. He drives his GTO over -- can't say I wasn't impressed by that beauty when I saw her this morning -- and I take Fraser in the carpool Chevy.

Fraser disappears into the kitchen to make us all tea or coffee. We ended up picking up Chinese from a place I know on Madison, and now I start tearing open paper bags.

Kowalski wanders around the apartment, moving stuff, moving it back to where it was before, not looking at me. I guess he doesn't actually come here all that often. I start to wonder about, you know, how they work it. Who sleeps where, does Fraser have a toothbrush in Kowalski's toothbrush mug... To my crazed mind that sounds like some kinda dirty joke, and I have to physically shake my head to clear it.

I watch Kowalski poking at a soapstone carving Fraser's got on his bookshelves, and think that at least I know what Fraser gets up to on Sundays now.

I don't even know whether or not Kowalski knows I know. If you get what I'm saying.

Fraser comes back with plates, cutlery and mugs on a tray, and Kowalski turns to face me for the first time since we got here. We all stand there for a split second, hesitating, and then Kowalski sits in the chair and Fraser sits on the sofa, so I end up on the sofa beside him.

I wish Fraser had a television. That's what we need here -- break this awkward silence.

Kowalski is the only one who doesn't seem freaked out. He's dishing out the lo mein, cool as you like. I've just decided he can't possibly know I know, when he says, "You're taking this very calmly, Vecchio."

Okay, guess he does know, then. I want to say something clever in reply, but I can't think of anything, so I shrug.

"Wasn't what Fraser expected," I mutter.

Fraser has the good grace to look uncomfortable.

I told him this morning I hadn't forgiven him, but it kind of looks as though I have. I mean, I must have, right? Else I wouldn't be sitting here talking to him. 

Anyhow, if we're going to talk about this, I might as well get in a couple of the questions I got rattling round inside my head.

"So this, uh, thing," I say, waving my hand between them. "Who else knows?" and I'm thinking _Don't say Stella, don't say Stella_.

Kowalski looks at Fraser, and Fraser answers. 

"Inspector Hartwell at the Consulate, and a few people in Personnel Records in Ottowa."

"Not Welsh? Not -- " I look at Kowalski. " -- no one out in Gary?"

Kowalski shrugs. "If you're talking about the marriage, it's not recognized here anyway. If you're just talking about the fucking -- we're not stupid. Course no one knows."

Fraser's gone bright red. My face feels kind of warm too. Kowalski takes another egg roll and bites into it.

"Right," I say.

"I bet my landlady know, though," Kowalski adds. "She lives right under me, and the bed creaks."

Fraser makes a strangled noise, and puts down his tea.

Kowalski ignores him; he's still looking at me. He's pushing me, goading me... He's not even saying that much. I mean, it's not like I didn't know they were getting it on. Figured that one out all by myself.

Fraser offers me an egg roll, even though I've already got one in my hand. I wave him off, still looking at Kowalski. He's staring right back at me. Christ, he's such a punk, spiky all over.

"Next question," says Kowalski, and it's an order, not a suggestion.

That gets my hackles up. I lean back on the sofa, wiping my fingers with a napkin in my best nonchalant manner.

"I don't know why you think I have any," I say, which is the biggest lie I've told since I tried to chat up that brunette in Supplies last week.

Kowalski snorts.

Fraser's still looking worried, though he seems to have abandoned the strategy of distracting us by passing the egg rolls. He's switched to confessional mode.

"I think you deserve to know whatever you want, Ray," he says earnestly.

Kowalski jumps in before I can even open my mouth. "Oh yeah? Like who's taking it up the ass? How many -- ?"

"Ray!" says Fraser. He's back to traffic-light red again and it feels like I am too. Does Kowalski not have blood vessels in his face or what?

"I'm just here to eat Chinese," I say, and boy do I hate Kowalski.

To my surprise Kowalski shrugs and sits back, and next thing I know we're talking about whether the Hawks will be able to afford another good center this season.

The rest of the evening turns out to be almost okay. Just a handful of cops, hanging out together. Kowalski gets to his feet around eleven and starts talking about leaving, to my surprise. I'd been starting to think I was the one who was supposed to take off and leave them to it, much as it stuck in my gullet to do that.

Fraser gets to his feet too. For a split second they're standing facing one another, and I wonder if I should be turning my back or something. Then the moment's over, and Kowalski's turning away, shrugging into his shabby excuse for a coat.

"I'll let you guys know how the house-to-house goes," he says, and then he's gone.

I turn to Fraser.

"Ray -- " he begins, and for some reason I _really_ don't want to hear him apologizing for Kowalski.

"I should probably get going too," I say to cut him off. "I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow?"

.. .. ..

Over the next few days things settle into a rhythm again between Fraser and me -- even if it's an awkward, strained sort of rhythm. We're busy on the Holburn case, of course, and that helps. We waste a whole day tracking down Linda Holburn's brother, who turns out not to have seen her in four or five years. Or maybe he's lying through his teeth, what do I know? But he seems sound to me, and we can't get anything out of him.

It's starting to look like Holburn's one of those people who's just quietly slipped out of society. A lot like Delaney, who worked nights and hardly knew anyone. Sounds like people it would be easy to use and then have disappear. Maybe Jackson and Kowalski are right about the mob connection.

I think of a black-haired girl sitting smoking on a roof, in her fake leather and fake leopardskin, giggling and making out with her boyfriend. God, I hope this isn't going to be one of those cases that runs up against the brick wall of Mobsters Too Slimy to Catch.

I drop Fraser off outside his apartment building on the way back from Holburn's brother's place. I haven't seen him outside of work since that evening with Kowalski. Tonight, though, we'd been planning to watch the Cubs game. Had it planned since a couple of weeks back. I haven't brought it up though, and neither has he.

Neither have we talked about Kowalski at all, or seen him. At least, I haven't seen him. I don't know about Fraser.

I desperately want to get back the easiness we had between us before, but I don't know how to do it, or even if I can.

One thing I do know is, I want to show him I'm fine with the fact he's getting it on with some other guy. Even if I'm not sure whether I am or not. That's not the point. The point is, he didn't even give me a chance. 

Kowalski and Jackson have searched Samuel Allen's room in the apartment he shared with Delaney and -- it seems -- Linda Holburn too. It didn't turn up anything, except the fact that he hasn't been there in over a week. He hasn't been seen at all since then, in fact, and I'm starting to wonder whether he'll be the next person to turn up dead.

I really don't want this to be a mob case. When I got back from Vegas, I was pretty sure I just couldn't go back to being a cop again. I just wanted to go live in a world where taking care of somebody meant hot soup or cough syrup, and not a guy turning up in the boot of a stolen car with a bullet in his brains. Turned out that if that world existed, it wasn't in Florida -- and that I couldn't really hack living there anyway. That was when Fraser emerged from the wilderness, bang on time, and wanted to know whether I was back at the 2-7 or not.

"Give me a week and I will be," I'd said.

Not a lot of what we do is Murder One anyway. We get fake insurance claims, counterfeit goods, illegal gambling -- plus all the crazy cases Fraser picks up because he's a soft touch for the problems of little old ladies and stray kids. And I can hack the murder cases. I can hack the mob cases. But not the way I could before. And maybe not forever. And sure as hell not without Fraser.

Kowalski phones my cell two days later, while me and Fraser are driving back to the 2-7. It's to say he's tracked down Samuel Allen's brother Michael and he's setting up a stakeout.

I hesitate before hanging up, and look sideways at Fraser. 

"You wanna talk to Kowalski?"

Fraser bites his lip, and shakes his head.

Guess it would be awkward as hell with me in the car. I hang up.

Fraser's looking at the car mat at his feet.

I turn back to the road. We're just coming up on Madison.

"You don't actually see that much of the guy, do you?"

"Not a great deal, no," he says quietly.

"What, once a week, tops? Mostly because you needed to keep it all under wraps from me?"

We're at a stop light, and I glance at him. He looks guilty as hell, but I'm not gunning to punish him. Not today, anyway.

"Not only that, Ray."

"Seems like a rough deal," I mutter.

He looks surprised.

He opens his mouth, and I'm afraid he's going to start apologizing again for deceiving me. And I don't think I can take that. At the moment my strategy is to just not think about it at all. But he shuts his mouth again and looks away.

The light goes green and I hit the gas.

As we pull up outside the station, it suddenly hits me that Fraser's probably pretty happy, on the whole. Married. What I always wanted for him.

.. .. ..

If you'd asked me a few days ago, I'd have said being stuck in a car for five hours with Kowalski came pretty close to the top of my Never-Ever-Want-to-Do list.

Now we're listening to a late-night sports round-up on the car radio, and talking over the sound of the pundits tearing apart the Hawks' latest loss.

"Ketchup?" says Kowalski, who seems to have four or five sachets tucked into the wrapping of his bacon burger.

I take one off him and open it with my teeth.

I take another look at the apartment block across the street. We've been watching it for hours already, but Michael Allen hasn't stirred in all that time. I slouch down in the seat, and wonder why I let myself draw the short straw. Fraser's playing doorman at the Consulate tonight, and Jackson was only too happy to take off home as soon as he could.

I want to ask Kowalski about that. 

"Doesn't it bother you, having a partner who only wants to work nine-to-five?"

He shrugs.

"Hey, if I had kids, I'd be spending every minute I could with them."

Something about the way he says it makes me pay attention. I wonder what's behind that simple sentence.

I know for a fact Stella doesn't want kids, but I don't know how she felt about it five or ten years ago.

He's not likely to be having any now, I think, but I don't think it in a mean way.

A Ford Escort runs a red light up the street from us. The door to Allen's apartment building opens and two men come out. They're dressed in dark clothes and probably hell-bent on something hinky, but that's not our business tonight. They disappear round a corner, and I'm back to staring at the front door again.

Kowalski's finished his burger. He bundles together my wrappers and his in a plastic bag and ties off the handles.

"I hear you've got a Riviera -- another Riviera."

"Yeah, but a 1979."

He grunts. "Front-wheel drive, then?"

I bristle at that. 

"She handles just fine."

He shoots me a skeptical look. I'm almost tempted to offer to let him give her a spin, but I'm not quite that cozy with him.

I don't tell him it's an automatic, either. Actually I could have got my hands on a 1972 manual RWD, but it wouldn't have been green. Hey, that's important too. Though I'm not about to try to explain that to a guy who buys his clothes from the Salvation Army.

"160 hp," I say, and he has the good grace to look impressed.

"Acceleration?"

"Zero to sixty in 5.5 seconds." I know the GTO has the edge, but only ever so slightly.

He grunts.

"I've been working her over, some Sunday afternoons," I say.

I can see Kowalski's interested, and I already know he's good with cars -- thanks to Stella. A tiny, tiny part of me wants to give him a look under the Riv's hood, but... yeah, that would be too weird.

Still, it gives us something to talk about to while away the rest of the night. 

And hey, what do you know? Maybe Kowalski's not that bad. When Fraser's not around, anyway, and Kowalski's not trying to get a rise out of me.

.. .. ..

The next day, Fraser and Jackson take over the stakeout from us, and cop a break a couple of hours later. Michael Allen comes out and gets into what Jackson describes as a beat-up old F-100. They manage to tail him all the way to a motel out in Elgin.

The motel parking lot is almost empty, and they don't want to pull in to it right after him in case he picks up on his tail. So they drive around the block and by the time they get back to the motel Michael Allen's pickup is gone again.

The manager recognizes a mugshot of Allen. Says he's renting Room Seven under another name. The manager hasn't seen the F-100 in the parking lot very often, though. Which sounds a lot like it's maybe Michael's brother Samuel who's hiding out at the motel.

The manager is happy to let Fraser and Jackson into Room Seven to look around, but they can see straight away that the occupant has cleared out. Maybe we got spotted on stakeout.

So now I'm starting to feel that Samuel Allen is on the run, and not another potential victim. I got a feeling the mob are helping him out rather than having already whacked him. We haven't got enough for a warrant against Michael Allen, but we do have enough to haul him in for questioning... except we spend the rest of the week looking for him.

We get an unexpected break on another case though, a guy who's been passing bad checks in the Pulaski Park area. We pack him off to the District Attorney on Friday afternoon, so that when quitting time finally comes around, me and Fraser should be feeling pretty pleased with ourselves, even if we still don't have either of the Allen brothers.

But no, we're sitting at my desk feeling awkward. Because normally now is when we'd be making plans for Saturday. 

Now that I know where he is when he's not with me on Sundays, everything's changed.

Last weekend he decided to skip the awkwardness altogether. He took off and I didn't see him all weekend. Didn't ask where he was, because that was kind of obvious. I'm not planning to ask this time either.

"Night, Fraser," I say. "Have a nice weekend."

So once more, I spend Saturday at home alone while Ma and the girls are out.

I lie on the couch and think about Stella. Why I can never seem to make things work. Seems like with Angie, I started out like I meant to go on.

Stella said I was unreasonable, said I had unreasonably high expectations. I guess she should know. She had a marriage that lasted fifteen years, after all. I don't really get what she means, though.

That evening I dream I'm back in Vegas. I'm standing in my big sleek office, all glass and leather, and Jimmy the Hand is pouring me a glass of Lambrusco. I'm giving instructions to the two other guys in the room, ordering a hit with my steak Tartare.

Then I'm out in the street, except it's not me and I'm not walking. I've got a sort of bird's eye view of Madeira Canyon, one of the boys' favorite places for dumping bodies. They're dumping one now, someone wrapped up in black plastic. But they haven't done it properly, because I can see the head, and it's a woman. They hoist her up, ready to toss her into the shallow grave they've dug. I can see her face now, and it's Linda Holburn.

.. .. ..

The following Wednesday we get hold of Linda Holburn's old landlord. According to the tattered logbook he keeps his records and accounts in -- and which the IRS would probably love to get their hands on -- the forwarding address she left was c/o Samuel Allen, not c/o Hudson Delaney. I'm starting to get a gut feeling that Samuel Allen has done more than just lied to us about his relationship with Linda Holburn.

But in the meantime, Jackson's snitches have come through for him -- someone matching Linda Holburn's description had just started working behind the counter in one of AJ Lacey's clubs, and doing a little bit of drug distribution on the side. That gets me down when I hear that. We know she wasn't a druggie herself -- yet -- but I guess hanging around the Allen brothers hadn't done her any good.

Jackson's delighted. He's gunning for something to let him take down Lacey. We spend the day working on the mob connection, until Jackson gets a call from his wife around six -- sick kid, and something about diaper rash and sore gums that I don't really wanna hear. Me, Fraser and Kowalski go through one last street of bars before we call it a night.

We head back to Fraser's apartment at around ten o'clock, and Kowalski starts drawing up a plan of attack for the next day. Guess he's nearly as eager as Jackson to take Lacey down.

I come back from the kitchen with three mugs of tea, because it turns out Fraser's been just as successful with Kowalski as with me in the whole caffeine-reduction campaign.

Kowalski is slumped on Fraser's shoulder, his eyes closed, one hand on Fraser's thigh. Fraser's got his head bent down towards him, and he's saying something, too softly for me to hear. I can't see his face but I can see his hand cupping Kowalski's cheek, his thumb gently stroking Kowalski's stubble.

Kissing or necking, I could maybe have dealt with. I mean, I won't pretend my mind hasn't been feeding me some images much more graphic than that all by itself.

But this -- this is just so intimate and affectionate, I don't know what to do with it.

Fraser looks up at me. And I don't know what he sees on my face, but he goes suddenly stiff and pulls away from Kowalski. Kowalski mutters something, his eyes still closed.

I just stand there, the cups of tea getting heavier in my hands.

Fraser's not looking at me any more. He's looking down at his hands -- they're in his lap now. And I'm glad I can't see his eyes, because I don't want to imagine what they look like right now.

I want to say something, but I don't know what. I want to say, "It's okay, Fraser. I don't mind," but I can't because it's not true. 

My wrists are getting tired, so I go around the sofa and put down the cups of tea on Fraser's packing-crate coffee table.

Kowalski stirs, and opens his eyes. He makes a face when he sees the tea, but he takes a cup all the same.

"Where the fuck you put the files, Vecchio?" he says, looking round.

"Watch your mouth, Kowalski," I say, and I know I'm taking my anger out on him. I don't really know who I'm actually angry with, though -- Kowalski, Fraser or myself.

Kowalski flips me the finger. Fraser hands him the files, still all tight-lipped and not looking at me.

"So, Henry Conrad," I say, making a deliberate effort to get us all concentrated on work again. The safest topic. "What do you make of him?"

Kowalski flips through the rap sheets to Conrad's. After a few seconds scanning over it he nods.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. Nice call, Vecchio."

We put him at the top of our list of people to shake down tomorrow, and add a couple more after him.

By the time I dare look at Fraser again, his face is neutral and he's busy studying a file.

Eventually I push the pile of papers away from me.

"I'm exhausted. I vote we pack it in for the night."

Kowalski grunts in agreement, and stands up to stretch his back out.

"Yeah, pack it in, that's an idea."

Fraser starts gathering the papers together into a neat pile.

We came in Kowalski's car, so him and me have to leave together.

"Night, Fraser," I say, and to Kowalski, "I'll meet you outside."

And I'm gone, out of there before I can even see what their reaction is.

I wait out on the pavement, leaning against Kowalski's GTO. I let the cool night air wash over me, and I'm not thinking about Kowalski kissing Fraser good-night inside.

After a minute Kowalski appears, and he's got his boxing stance on.

"What's the matter with you?" he says.

I shake my head in disgust.

"Jeez, you can't ever just let anything alone, can you?" I jerk at the passenger door handle. "Come on, let's go."

He gives me a dirty look but doesn't push it.

So he drops me home. He knows where I live, of course. He lived there himself for a while, when he was me. And that bugs me like it always does.

.. .. ..

Next morning I get a call from Jackson. He's managed to dig up a witness who will definitely place Linda Holburn as working for AJ Lacey, king of Gary's underworld, and he's over the moon.

"I've got a meet up with him this morning," he says. "One of you two guys want to give Kowalski some backup on the door-to-door?"

When me and Fraser get out to Gary, Jackson and Kowalski are going over the list we made last night.

"You guys make me feel guilty," Jackson says. "I didn't know you were going to go on working yesterday evening."

Fraser is tripping over himself to reassure him, of course.

"Not at all, Detective Jackson. If I had a wife and children, I'm sure I would be anxious to return home to them too."

"Yeah, guess you would at that," Jackson says. He gives Fraser a friendly punch in the arm. "Hey, you'll see for yourself someday, constable. Puts life -- this whole shitty job -- back in perspective. You'll see."

"I'm sure it does," says Fraser with a smile.

I feel kind of uncomfortable, even if Fraser's not technically lying at all. He's just letting Jackson's assumptions go uncorrected.

Kowalski's ignoring the conversation, shoving stuff around on his desk.

"We ready to go or what?" he throws out.

Jackson takes Fraser this time, and I end up with Kowalski. We drive downtown and start a round of the seediest bars. Kowalski's got our set of mugshots, and he's shoving them into people's faces.

"You know this guy? You know this chick?"

Not exactly my style, but hey, I'm on his turf here. I just keep my eyes open and watch his back. I like this place even less than I like Chicago's worst neighborhoods, and I'm pretty sure ninety-nine percent of the people in here are packing. Kowalski's not getting much in the way of results, but that's maybe not just because of his technique.

We come out of our fifth bar, and decide to take a few minutes' break. Kowalski buys a soda and we lean up against the carpool Chevy, side-by-side. I watch him crack open his Coke.

"Sweet tooth, huh?" I say.

Kowalski shrugs that off.

After a minute I open my mouth again, getting to the thing I really want to say, that I've been thinking since listening to Jackson and Fraser this morning.

"You know, the Benton Fraser I knew would never lie. It was like a thing with him, built into him."

Kowalski stiffens, but only for a second. He's a boxer, he knows how to bounce back from a blow.

"That right?"

I nod.

"Feels like -- like he's been turned into something else."

Kowalski can hear what I'm not saying, of course.

I expect him to say it's not his fault, but instead he slumps back against the car. When he speaks it's in a quieter voice than I except.

"Yeah, well, that's just the way things are."

What with the way Kowalski was provoking and goading me, the first time him and me were at Fraser's place, I'd got the impression that he was the one that was all out and proud and it was Fraser wanted to hush things up. Not that that made any sense to anyone who actually _knew_ Fraser even half as well as I do.

Now I'm wondering.

Kowalski drains the last of his soda. I look at him sideways. 

"Don't you, I dunno, ever get fed up?"

He shrugs. "We're used to it."

And all of the sudden, for the first time, I feel mad not at him but at the rest of the world.

I push myself up off the side of the car.

"Come on, let's go do a couple more bars."

Me and Fraser have got to be in court this afternoon, and it's not looking like I'm going to get anything useful done before that. I'm just about starting to think it's time to pack it in, when suddenly the morning takes a dive bomb for the worse.

We're in one of those scummy bars that don't even have cable TV, because it's sure as hell not TV you go there for, and Kowalski's sitting at a formica table with an old guy who seems willing to take a good look at the mugshots, at least. He's staring at Delaney and shaking his head. I'm watching someone else out of the corner of my eye -- a jittery looking kid who's definitely high on more than the Budweiser he's drinking.

It's not me or Kowalski he goes for -- it's some guy who arrives soon after we do. Pretty stupid of the kid with two cops right there in the room with him.

The whole thing turns into a brawl pretty fast, but me and Kowalski pull out our guns and our badges -- and hey, we even work kind of okay together. We get things calmed down before anyone gets killed, anyway.

I feel like a pretty shitty backup, though, because I've come out unscathed, but Kowalski's cradling his arm and wincing. Hey, at least I've got the guy who did it handcuffed to a bar tap.

Fraser arrives when it's all over, and they're already loading Kowalski into an ambulance. I'm standing on the sidewalk, and he comes barreling up. Someone must have told him what happened, because his face is white in a way it shouldn't be at the speed he's moving. He looks like he's about to march straight up to the ambulance, so I grab his arm and drag him aside. Takes all the strength I have.

"Fraser -- "

"What?" he snaps. No manners now.

"Fraser, this is not a good idea."

He's ignoring me, twisting to get a look in the ambulance.

"Fraser, he's gonna be fine, okay? Don't be an idiot."

He's hardly even listening to me. "Ray, let me -- "

"You're not even his partner, Fraser," I hiss, and that gets him.

He stills suddenly, standing facing me, his back to the ambulance. I feel like I've just kicked him in the head.

"He's gonna be fine, okay? Couple of stitches in the head, broken wrist, that's all."

That makes him relax a bit. He takes a deep breath. "All right. Thank you, Ray." He looks around at the ambulance, which is just driving off. "I think I'll -- " 

"Jackson's going to the hospital, Fraser," I say firmly. "You and me are going to the Criminal Court. This afternoon's the Watebago trial, remember?"

"Yes. Of course," he says, and I can see he'd forgotten completely.

Kowalski's lieutenant comes up just then, and Fraser's got his mask back on.

Once I've filled in the lieu on what happened, me and Fraser can get away. We drive back into Chicago, arriving just in time for the trial.

Fraser seems to have his head screwed back on for the moment. He gives evidence just fine.

For the next three hours we're tied up in court. I don't have time to think until I've given my own evidence, and we're sitting down waiting for the verdict.

It's a straightforward armed robbery case, and I don't even bother to listen to the wrap-up and sentencing. I'm thinking about Fraser outside that bar this afternoon. It's only natural he was anxious, of course. Anyone would feel the same. But his face... I don't know that I ever loved anyone that much. Except Fraser himself, I guess.

When we come back out I phone Jackson. They're releasing Kowalski, and Jackson's gonna drive him home. I relay the news to Fraser, looking at my watch at the same time.

"I guess we should call it a day. Want me to drop you at Kowalski's place?"

That surprises him -- I can see it. He nods.

"That's very kind of you, Ray."

I don't know where Kowalski lives, but Fraser does, of course. Guess he kind of lives there too. I watch him go up the steps, but I don't drive off straight away. I just sit there in my car. And it's stupid, because I shouldn't be feeling any lonelier than I would be on any average Thursday night.

.. .. ..

Next morning I go back out to Kowalski's place to pick up Fraser. From a distance I can see a familiar-looking car parked outside his apartment block. I'm already slowing down when I see Kowalski coming out the front door of his block, and realize what the car is -- Jackson's Chevy.

I keep driving right on by and round the block. I feel... weird. Shaken, like I've just had a narrow escape.

When I drive back round the block, the Chevy is gone and Fraser is standing on the front step, hands behind his back, looking up at the cloudy sky like he's calculating when the first raindrop will fall or something. He smiles when I drive up.

"Good morning, Ray."

"Just get in the car, Benny," I say.

His smile disappears. He's got his puzzled look on now instead, but he doesn't say anything, and neither do I.

We swing by Fraser's place to get Dief. 

"Kowalski okay?" I say at last, when we're headed for the station.

He nods. "He won't be able to drive for a while though. Detective Jackson kindly came by to pick him up this morning."

"While you hid away up in his apartment?"

That makes him jump.

"Yes, Ray," he says quietly.

I throw a glance sideways at him. He's doing that thing with his tongue that's a sure sign he's feeling uncomfortable.

I don't feel angry that I'm now in the web of deception too. More like sad.

We drive on in silence. After a few minutes, I say, "You think it's worth it, Benny?"

He knows what I'm talking about, of course, but he doesn't say anything at first, so I go on.

"All the sneaking around, the risk, what would happen if everyone finds out..."

We're at a stop light, and I take a look at him. He's looking straight back at me.

"Yes."

That makes me jealous. Not in the way I'm already crazy jealous of Kowalski. That makes me jealous of both of them, because I can't imagine risking my neck for anyone like that. Not even Angie or Stella. For Fraser maybe. Shame he's not a woman. Not the first time I've thought that.

.. .. ..

The next day is Saturday, and Fraser's over at our place for lunch -- an invitation that Ma issued and insisted on. Saturday used to be _my_ day with Fraser, and it's almost embarrassing to think how glad I am to have him to myself again. But Kowalski's stuck at home with a broken wrist, and after lunch that starts to kind of grate on my nerves.

"How's Kowalski?" I ask as soon as we're alone in the living room.

Fraser looks startled. And what? He thought I'd want to pretend Kowalski doesn't exist today, or what?

"He's, well, feeling a little grumpy because of his wrist," Fraser says. "It's very understandable, of course."

Yeah, right, I think. I bet Kowalski bawled him out this morning and he left in a dignified silence -- or a huff, as the rest of us call it.

"You know, if you wanna go check up on him -- " I say before I can stop myself.

So we all end up in Kowalski's living room. Kowalski was pretty surprised to see me -- but what? It's not my fault Fraser still doesn't have a car to get himself around.

Kowalski's got a decent-sized place. Guess it had to be big enough for Fraser too. And Fraser's stuff is all over the place: books piled up beside the TV, spare boots by the door, one of his jackets in among Kowalski's.

Dief obviously knows the place well too. There's one of Fraser's stripy Canadian blankets in the corner, covered in wolf hair, and he makes right for it.

And Fraser's doing the hospitality thing, like we were at his apartment -- his usual apartment, I mean. He's sitting me down, offering me tea or coffee.

I hadn't really intended to stay, but... I don't know. I hadn't really ended to go either. Saturday's _my_ day with Fraser, like I said, and I'm hanging on to it.

I take another look around. Besides Fraser's books, the place is stuffed full of the craziest stuff. Looks like Kowalski just buys every random thing he sees. Cacti and a weird neon clock and -- is that a snake tank in the corner?

"Hey, you've got a TV," I say suddenly. I hadn't noticed it before, what with all the junk around the place. 

"Yeah, what about it?" Kowalski says, and jeez, is everything a declaration of war with him?

"Nothing," I say, and glance at Fraser. "Just -- "

"It wasn't my choice, I admit," Fraser says, coming back with tea mugs. "I caved in."

Kowalski is perched on the edge of a chair, looking like he wants to be up and doing something. He's taken his arm out of the sling. Fraser gives him what you might call a pointed stare. Kowalski scowls at him, but he puts the sling back on.

I take my tea and sit back in my chair.

"You just wanna be able to keep up with the World Curling Championships," I say.

To my surprise that gets a tiny smile out of Kowalski.

"No curling on _my_ TV, Vecchio."

"Sure about that?" I say. "You got TSN?"

I only meant to make a joke -- a pretty lame joke -- that TSN's got a lot of curling coverage, and Fraser could be watching it in secret.

But Kowalski says, "Yeah, course. Why, you wanna watch the hockey this evening?"

There's a couple of seconds' silence. I wasn't expecting that -- hell, I don't think even Kowalski was expecting that.

"Sure," I say at last.

We've still got at least an hour to go before the game starts, so me and Fraser go out to get a pack of beer and some groceries he wants -- he nixes eating take-out this evening -- and Kowalski takes Dief out for his evening run. More like a walk, I guess, since it can't be easy to run with one hand all bound up, but Dief seems to have managed to tire himself out anyway, because by the time we get back he's lying in the corner, dozing.

Kowalski's rattling around in the kitchenette in the corner of the room, and Fraser goes to join him. I drift around the flat, driven by a weird sort of curiosity. Same thing that drives you to look at a car crash, maybe.

On the bookshelf in the corner there's a little collection of framed photographs. Weird to see myself among them. One of them's Fraser in dress uniform, beaming, and Kowalski almost unrecognizable, all spruced up and wearing a suit and tie. It's not Armani, but he looks okay. They've got their arms around each other. 

_Wedding photo,_ I think, picking it up.

"So where was this, then?"

Kowalski stiffens, like he's thinking I'm leading up to some kind of crack. But Fraser smiles. He's looking pretty soppy.

"I'm afraid it wasn't anything which would appeal to your romantic soul, Ray. It was in front of a Justice of the Peace in Yellowknife."

"Yeah?" I look from one to the other. "Just the two of you?"

Fraser's face changes, like there's a shadow passing across it.

"Yes. We felt it was for the best."

"He wanted to invite you," Kowalski says shortly. "And a couple of other people. I talked him out of it."

Fraser stiffens.

"Ray -- " he says.

Kowalski's ignoring him.

"So don't go getting pissy at him because you weren't invited, Vecchio."

"Ray -- " Fraser says again.

Kowalski rounds on him.

"And don't you go getting pissy at me either, Fraser."

I put the photo back on the shelf.

Kowalski starts sticking potatoes in the microwave. Fraser is cutting up a block of cheese. Part of me wants to offer to help, because I've suffered Fraser's cooking plenty of times before, and I don't expect Kowalski to be much better. But this whole evening feels pretty weird, and I prefer to just stay here in the living room and keep out of the way.

They look pretty comfortable together and it makes me feel lonely. I don't think me and Stella ever actually cooked together. And Angie... well, she did pretty much all the cooking. I was at work most of the time -- sometimes I think I even took extra shifts on purpose, especially towards the end.

Fraser comes back out to me carrying a bowl of those little pretzel sticks, and a beer for me.

He smiles at me, and I think he's going to say something like, it's nice to have you here, Ray. To which I'm all set to reply, _yeah, you could have had me here a year ago if you weren't such a dick._

But instead he just hands me the can of beer.

Behind us, Kowalski starts swearing all of a sudden. Jeez, he's got more of a mouth on him than I have. Fraser hurries over to the kitchenette, where Kowalski's holding his hand in the air and wincing. Looks like he just poured a pan of boiling water all over it.

"Oh dear," says Fraser.

He reaches for Kowalski's hand and Kowalski snatches it away. Because of me, I guess.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. This stupid sling... Left hand's not as strong as the right, fuck it."

"Thought you were a boxer," I say.

He looks up sharply.

"How'd you know that?"

Stella let it slip once, one of the rare times she talked about Kowalski. I shrug. I don't want to bring up Stella.

Kowalski's already been distracted by Fraser anyway, who's still hovering over him.

"Okay, okay," he snaps, going to stick his hand under the cold water. It's the wrist he hasn't sprained, of course, so now he's got two hands out of action. Bad luck.

Unsurprisingly, Fraser's got some funky-smelling anti-burn gunk handy. They start a little dance where Fraser's trying to get it on Kowalski and Kowalski's trying to fend him off, even though he obviously can't do it himself.

And yeah, part of me appreciates the thoughtfulness, if you can call it that. I already feel weird enough about Fraser being within two feet of Kowalski, never mind having to be in the same room while he sits there caressing Kowalski's hand. But --

"Jeez, get over yourselves already," I say. "I already know at least one of you is taking it up the ass. I think I can cope with a little hand-holding."

Fraser perks up at that, and I see a lecture coming. 

"Actually, Ray, it's a common misconception that all male homosexual relationships necessarily involve a penetrative element in order to be -- "

"Shut up, Fraser," says Kowalski.

So Fraser lathers up Kowalski's hand, and it's not as awkward as I thought it would be. Then we eat and yeah, I really am by far the best cook of the three of us, but it's okay, more than just edible even.

Fraser takes the dishes and goes to put them in the sink.

Kowalski's giving me that leery grin he's got.

"So now we're both playing nice, Vecchio?"

"For Fraser's sake," I say.

"Yeah, for Fraser's sake."

Kowalski's escaped the grilling I normally would have given any girl Fraser turned up with. Guess his intentions are sincere, and all that, since he's already fucking married to Fraser.

Married. Still haven't got my head around that. Still thinking of Kowalski as something temporary -- the way he was temporarily me, maybe.

"So, Hawks or Panthers?" says Kowalski, and I guess that's the end of the most serious conversation we're going to have all evening.

Hawks start out strongly in the game, but the home team rallies in the second period, and it turns into a pretty tight game. It's great to be able to watch TV without having to fend off Frannie, Maria, Tony and whoever else happens to be in the house. Kowalski finally relaxes and stops bawling everyone out. Fraser relaxes too and what do you know? I actually have an okay evening in the end.

.. .. ..

It's Sunday morning and I'm trying to get everyone out the door and into the car. We're running late for Mass as usual. I've got Maria's kids lined up in the hallway and I'm yelling up the stairs to Frannie when Fraser calls.

"Good morning, Ray."

I stick a finger in my ear and use the other hand to shoo the kids into their coats, phone jammed under my chin.

"What's going on, Benny?"

"Ray and I are on the way out to Crown Point to pick up Samuel Allen. A State Trooper pulled him over on Interstate 65 this morning for a traffic violation and recognized him from the APB."

"I'm on my way," I say.

"Ray, you don't have to -- " he begins, but I'm already hanging up.

I grab Tony's car keys and push them into his hand.

"You'll have to squeeze everyone into your car -- I'm going to work."

Ma's just coming down the stairs in her Sunday best, and I decide now is a good time to get going.

"Sorry, Ma, gotta go. Might not be back for lunch."

And I'm out of there before she can object.

By the time I get out to Gary, Fraser and Kowalski are back too, and have Samuel Allen in an interrogation room. 

I go take a look at him. He's sitting with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped. A smaller, younger, exhausted-looking version of his mobster brother Michael. And Linda Holburn's ex-boyfriend, apparently. Is he a murderer or a potential victim on the run? We don't actually have much in the way of evidence against him at all.

"Let's get at him," says Kowalski, raring to go as usual.

I think of Linda Holburn lying in Jackson Park, all the life gone out of her.

"Let me," I say.

So me and Kowalski get started.

Allen just won't crack at first. He just sits there, shaking his head and denying everything in a low voice. No, he doesn't know who might have killed his roommate and he doesn't know who might have killed Linda Holburn. Holburn wasn't his girlfriend, and no, of course he wasn't jealous of her getting closer to Hudson Delaney. Hell, according to him he doesn't even know anything about his brother Michael's dirty line of work.

Kowalski keeps hammering away at him, and Christ, it's true what they say -- he is good. Turns out we work pretty well together too, and within half an hour or so, Allen is starting to weaken.

"Come on, you know we've got you," Kowalski says. "We got the forensics, we got the bullets. We got a string of witnesses say you were screwing Linda Holburn, and look what I got here -- " He waves a sheet of paper in Allen's face. "Your signed statement trying to make out you weren't. You got guilty written all over you, Sam, and you know it."

"I've done nothing wrong," Allen says for the hundredth time, but he's starting to sound less and less convinced of it himself.

I lean forward, and get my kindest voice ready.

"How long are you gonna be able to go on like this, Sam?" I say. "Hiding out, living in fear -- it's wearing you away to nothing." I tap the photo of him that's lying with the rest of his file on the desk between us. "Where's the Sam Allen who was in this photo? I gotta say, I wouldn't even recognize you from it. You haven't been eating, you haven't been sleeping -- "

"I got some money problems," he mutters. "That doesn't mean -- "

Kowalski jumps in.

"What, money problems because your brother Michael won't help you out any more? Guess he's tired of trying to cover up a botched up, amateurish killing, is that it?"

That gets to him; I can see it in his eyes. They've gone hard and tight, and he's looking at us now instead of down at the table.

"Mikey knows nothing about love."

Kowalski sneers. "I guess he thinks you don't either. Guess he says Linda never even loved you -- that she was just a slut, not worth killing over."

"Linda loved me!"

Beside me, I can feel Kowalski deliberately staying as relaxed as I'm trying to. We don't dare put Allen off. We've got him now, but he doesn't seem to know it himself. He's got words flooding out of his mouth now.

"She was supposed to be moving in with _me_ , but as soon as Delaney appeared on the scene it was all 'Hudson this' and 'Hudson that'. 'Does Hudson got a girlfriend' and I dunno what else." He drops his head into his hands again. "God, they drove me nuts."

It doesn't take long to get the rest of the story out of him. He shot Hudson Delaney first, and then Linda Holburn when she found out about it. I come out of that interrogation room feeling pretty bitter at the whole world. One more piece of evidence in the case-file I've been building up for years: love always turns sour.

Jackson arrived while we were working on Allen, so now me and him take Allen downstairs and have him locked up until Monday morning. When we get back to the bullpen, Kowalski is making a start on the arrest report, and Fraser is standing a few feet away with his hands behind his back, looking in the opposite direction. I guess what he really wants to be doing is leaning over Kowalski's shoulder and correcting his spelling mistakes. One thing I do know about Kowalski from having inherited his notes is that he can't spell any better than I can.

But Fraser can lean over my shoulder or Jackson's, but he can't lean over Kowalski's.

Jackson claps his hands together, beaming.

"Nice work, guys. Well done."

The sordid little tale of love gone wrong doesn't seem to have gotten to him at all. Maybe there's something in his advice about marriage and family giving you a different perspective. Or maybe he was just born like that, and I wasn't.

Kowalski raises his voice without raising his head.

"What time'd we get to Crown Point again, Fraser?"

"Ten thirty-two," says Fraser.

This gets Jackson's attention.

"Yeah, by the way, Constable, how the heck did it end up being you driving out with Kowalski to get Allen?"

Fraser gives him a casual, innocent smile.

"Since you and Detective Vecchio are both family men, Detective Kowalski thought I was perhaps the person least likely to be disturbed by a phone call early on Sunday morning."

I don't think I've ever seen him lie so smoothly.

Kowalski grunts in agreement, not looking up from the arrest report.

"Well, thanks for that," Jackson says with a grin. "And I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier, guys. Diaper disaster just before lunch."

I've got something angry building up inside of me, but I tamp it down. I step forward, the brightest smile I can manage plastered across my face.

"Right, time we got out of here. It's Sunday afternoon, guys. We'd don't have to hang around the bull pen."

Jackson doesn't need any more prompting than that to take off again. Fraser invites me round to Kowalski's place. Part of me is thinking I should just go home, cool off, and keep my mouth shut. But I don't do that. I say yes to Fraser.

I wait till I'm sitting down on Kowalski's couch before I say anything, though. He's handing me a cup of tea when I finally speak up.

"I didn't know you could lie like that, Benny. You've gotten pretty good at it."

I'm surprised by how casual my voice comes out.

Fraser doesn't actually look at me, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Kowalski snap his head around to face us.

Fraser is looking down into his own cup of tea. He knows exactly what I'm talking about, of course.

"Yes, I have, haven't I?" he says.

I can see I'm hurting him, and it makes me glad.

"Course you've had plenty of practice," I say, and I'm still keeping my voice casual. "If you can lie to me you can probably lie to just about anyone."

Fraser doesn't say anything.

"Or maybe I'm overestimating my importance. Was it easy to lie to me, Benny? Just as easy as lying to everyone else?"

"I've never -- " he begins.

"What? Never told me a direct lie?" 

I'm almost shouting now. And God, I hadn't really even understood this before, but I hadn't forgiven Fraser at all.

"That's great, Benny," I say. "Very considerate of you. I appreciate it."

Fraser swallows.

"Ray, I never wanted -- I -- "

His gaze flicks very briefly towards Kowalski, who's keeping pretty quiet in the corner of the room. He looks back at me so quickly, though, that I'm not even sure if I've seen it or not.

"You're right, of course, Ray," he says. "There's really nothing I can say to excuse myself."

And just like that, all the anger drains out of me. 

I rub a hand across my eyes. My head hurts.

"Fuck it, Benny," I say.

Fraser's looking neither at me nor Kowalski.

"You're right, Ray," he says again. "I don't -- in fact, I don't quite know how I managed to keep it up so long."

In the corner of my eye, I see Kowalski flinch.

Something's going on here that's not being said. Something's going on I don't understand.

"I tried," Fraser says. "God knows I tried."

Kowalski is on his feet now.

"Ben," he says, and God, there's something in his voice that makes my gut twist.

Fraser is looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I thought I could do this, Ray."

He picks up his hat, and then puts it back down again. 

"Benny?" I say, though I know he wasn't talking to me.

Kowalski's eyes are still glued on Fraser.

"I know," he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him.

Fraser's jaw twitches. He picks up his hat again and this time he leaves.

He leaves behind him a thick, heavy silence.

"What was that?" I say.

Kowalski's gone pale as a sheet. He sinks back down into his chair.

"That was Fraser cracking."

He's got his head in his hands now, fingers roughing up his hair.

"Hey, maybe I should even be thanking you." He laughs without humor. "Always thought that'd go differently. Thought it'd be the two of us shouting at each other."

"No, but what the fuck -- ?" 

I'm on my feet now, standing over him. I still don't get it.

Kowalski looks up at me.

"'Cause it's all my fault, don't you get it? I'm the one made him lie, I'm the one made him hide. He kept going, somehow -- until you made him crack."

"Jeez, Kowalski," I say, and I can hear the apology in my voice.

"Look, don't sweat, Vecchio. I'm already feeling guilty enough for the two of us here."

"But I -- "

He shakes his head. 

"This has always been a -- thing. Yeah, a thing we had, like a scab we didn't want to pick at. Fraser's always hated -- " He throws one arm out wide. "You know, the whole thing."

I'm still feeling guilty though. I'm the one poked at the scab, after all. I sink back into my chair.

"But you were right," I say. "You were right to -- make him lie, whatever. Christ, if anyone ever found out -- "

"Even to lie to you?"

That brings me up short for a minute.

"Yeah, maybe," I say slowly. "I don't know... I don't know how I would have reacted."

We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I wonder if I should go, and leave Kowalski alone. That's probably what he wants right now.

But after a bit Kowalski cracks open one of the cans of beer he'd brought in earlier, and pushes the other one over to me.

"Do you want -- " I gesture towards the door. Don't know if I'm offering to go after Fraser or saying that he should. 

"Nah." Kowalski's looking down at his out-stretched hands where they rest on his knees. "He's just gotta -- He'll come back. Not that that'll solve anything."

I drink my beer, and Kowalski drinks his.

After a bit he flicks on the TV, and leaves it on mute. It's some kind of documentary about the world's most dangerous sharks. We watch some old guy in a coastguard's uniform being interviewed.

"Fraser couldn't have lied to save his life before I got hold of him," Kowalski says suddenly. "He's gotta hate me for that. Somewhere inside him he's gotta hate me."

I look down into my beer. I'm thinking about Fraser. Thinking about the way I like to see myself as his big brother, and look out for him. And how that means I hate anything that reminds me that I need him more than he needs me.

"You know, when I came back from Vegas, I couldn't stomach the thought of being a cop any more."

Kowalski's not thrown by what looks like a change of topic. He's listening. I go on.

"Couldn't stomach the sight of -- of anything, really. Guns, bullets, stab wounds... even the kids hanging around the bullpen waiting to be processed, who're all there because the mob got hold of them in the cradle. I took off to Florida first chance I got."

With Stella, of course. He knows that, so I don't say it. I thought Stella was going to be my savior. Beautiful, pure Stella who would save me from my nightmares. But it wasn't her. It was someone else. I go on in a low voice.

"But I ended up right back up at the 2-7 anyway. Because of Fraser. Because he's the truest, straightest arrow you could imagine. Everything bounces off him. All the lies and deaths and scumminess of Vegas."

Kowalski wrinkles up his forehead.

"Guess I had it easy, huh? Being undercover at the 2-7, I mean."

I think back to those two years in Vegas and nod. I think about Fraser and what a life-saver he was. 

"He was the best thing that could have happened to me back then," I say. "Or I thought he was."

"He's still the same guy he always was," says Kowalski. "Just had the bad luck to meet me, and -- " He shrugs. "Somehow I managed to get under his skin. The guy's allowed a little fucking happiness, right?" He looks like he wants to deck someone.

"Yeah, he is," I say. Then I add, because I have no sense of self-preservation, "Doesn't mean he was allowed to lie to me. That was a dick move."

Instead of whacking me one, Kowalski grins suddenly, unexpectedly.

"He was always an asshole, some of the time. A lot of the time. Now he still is."

He's not looking at me any more -- he's looking into the distance, his face softened around the eyes in a way I've never seen it before, and I guess he's thinking about Fraser. God, I wish I could find someone who would look like that when they were thinking of _me_.

"Yeah," I say.

I watch a couple of guys wading into a swamp on the TV, and feel lonely as all hell.

I can't find it in my heart to hold a grudge against Fraser anymore. If I had what he has with Kowalski... Jesus, I want that more than anything. I'd do anything to protect it. And hah, I wouldn't even have the same problem he has, would I? I'd have a much easier life. I'd be able to take my girl home to Ma, and everything.

I clear my throat.

"So how'd you two, uh -- "

Kowalski looks up.

"What?"

I wave a hand. He's not going to make this easy for me.

"You and Benny," I say. "How'd it all start?"

To my surprise, Kowalski relaxes.

"You know when you meet a women, think she's kinda cute? Give her a smile, she smiles back, you think 'hey, maybe...'. You go out for a drink or something, you're getting these vibes, you're thinking maybe you're in luck -- You know?"

He looks at me, like he's checking whether I'm following or not.

I nod. "Yeah, course I know."

He shrugs.

"Well, it was exactly like that. Except I had to wait two years for him to put out."

"So you mean, while I was in Vegas -- " I can't figure out how to say it in a way that's not going to make me go bright red.

"Don't worry. I kept my hands off him when I was you. Wouldn't have been in character, right?" He flashes me that cheeky grin he's got. "But as soon as you got back and we were up north -- " He's looking down at his beer now and I can't really see his expression anymore. For a while it's like he's forgotten I'm still here.

After a bit, I say, "Why'd you come back?"

He shrugs. 

"Different reasons. I wanted to. Couldn't get a job up there, couldn't stand the thought of sponging off Ben. He wanted to too, mostly because of you. Guy fucking loves you."

"And -- that doesn't bother you?" I say carefully.

"Nobody gets the whole of a heart," he says, and I'm just thinking that's kind of poetic when he spoils it by adding, "Plus he doesn't want to fuck you."

"Okay," I say. "Good." Guess I knew that. Though yeah, I'll admit part of me's thinking, _hey, what's wrong with me?_ "But is he -- ? Has he always been -- ?"

"Yeah, Fraser likes men." He obviously doesn't have a Code like Benny does. 

"But, uh -- " I'm pushing, but I've been curious for a _long_ while now about all this stuff. "Then you got, uh, married straight away? It seems a bit -- " I don't know what to say. Permanent? Sudden?

Kowalski shrugs. "I'm the marrying kind. So's he. So're you. How long did it take you to marry Stella?"

"Yeah, but -- " I stop. It took us just two months. And Benny and Kowalski had known each other for a couple of years already.

Me and Stella didn't last, though. Now that I look back, it feels like the cracks were there right from the very beginning. The things that annoyed me about her, the things I could see she was putting up with in me... We managed to paper over everything until close to the end, though.

"I was afraid you guys weren't getting along so well recently," I say. 

That gets me two raised eyebrows.

"You fight a lot," I explain.

"You think?" He takes a second to think about that, then shrugs. "Nah. We been like that from day one."

When I started yelling at Stella like that it was the beginning of the end. But Fraser just seems to take it differently. It's not the same, because I'm starting to think they're solid in a way me and Stella never were.

I sit there with my beer, and think about how things ended with Stella. I thought she was It. But hell, I've met a dozen women I thought were It, even married two of them, and they never were. Now I just wish something would work out for me.

Kowalski switches on the sound on the TV. He doesn't show any signs of wanting to get rid of me, though. He even throws me a remark every now and then. We end up watching the NFL highlights for the rest of the evening.

It's around midnight by the time I leave. Kowalski's still sitting there, staring into his fifth beer, but I can't do anything for him. Only Fraser can.

.. .. ..

Gary PD get to keep Samuel Allen, since he confessed to the murders of both Linda Holburn and Hudson Delaney. Jackson's disappointed there was nothing at all to lead back to AJ Lacey and the mob. But who knows -- maybe one of the dead ends we followed will one day lead somewhere. Maybe all the time we wasted on Samuel Allen's brother Michael will come in handy for a mob case some day. Meanwhile, Kowalski comes over to sign off on the paperwork to transfer Linda Holburn's case to them too.

We exchange pretty much the most cordial greeting we have yet, which is a nod and a grunt. The he goes to cross swords with Welsh, and I sit down at my desk. I've got a mountain of paperwork that's built up while I've been spending most of my time out in Gary. I'm just looking at it and groaning when Fraser arrives, Dief at his heels.

He comes right up to me, looking grimly determined.

"Ray, would you be free to come over to my place this evening?" 

If my voice sounds suspicious when I answer, it's because I am.

"Why?"

"I'd like to be able to apologize to you properly, and -- " He glances around. " -- that's not really something I can do here."

"Fraser, I don't want to hear any more apologies."

He looks crestfallen. I realize he's misunderstood me.

"I mean, Jesus! You've already apologized to me a million times."

He opens his mouth again, and before he can get started again I drag him off to the supply closet.

Part of me suddenly thinks, hey, I'm in the supply closet with Fraser and Fraser is gay. That strikes me as kind of funny, actually. And what the hell, he's still Fraser.

"Look, Benny, we can't change the past. Okay? You can't go back and do things differently."

He nods. He has his serious face on, lips pressed tightly together.

I rub my hand across my head.

"And neither can I. If I could, uh -- If I could take back any jokes I might have made around you that I wouldn't have made if I'd known you were, uh -- " Christ, this is awkward. "Well, you know, I would. Take them back, I mean."

"I know you would, Ray," he says softly.

"Yeah? Good." I'm not quite ready to give him a smile, but I do back down. "Look, this is the world we live in, Benny. We shouldn't let it get between us, alright?"

I'm talking as much to myself as to him, but I seem to be listening just as good as he is.

"Okay?" I say.

"Yes, Ray."

"Come on, then."

We push him back out of the closet. On the way back to the bullpen, I say, "Gary PD are taking over all the wrap-up on the Holburn case. So I get to wriggle out of most of the paperwork on this one."

"It turned out to be a tragedy on a very human scale," Fraser says sadly.

"I guess Linda Holburn fell out of love with Allen and into love with Delaney," I say. "Love doesn't last. Always said it."

I didn't, actually, but I'm saying it now.

Fraser's got his stubborn look on. 

"I think it can."

I snort.

"You would."

But maybe he's right. Maybe I'll sit down and think about that later. 

Now, I've got something else important to say. I stop walking before we step into the bullpen, and Fraser comes to a stop beside me. There's no one around as I turn to Fraser.

"Look, Benny, I'm -- I'm glad you met Kowalski."

His eyes widen.

"And he was right to make you keep everything quiet. I hope he keeps it up for the rest of your lives. So don't be hard on him."

"I know," he says, and his face is breaking my heart.

"Oh and yeah -- he's here," I add, just as the devil himself comes out of the Lieutenant's office.

Fraser turns. I can tell exactly the moment when Kowalski sees Fraser. The bounce goes out of his step for a second. Then it's back worse than ever, and he's making straight for us.

"You know where the supply closet is," I say to Fraser, and go hide out behind my desk.

I'm watching the two of them out of the corner of my eye. Fraser is stiff and Kowalski's subdued. They're standing about two feet apart, which looks like a long way apart from where I'm sitting, and I don't know how much of that is what's going on between them and how much is because they're in public, in the middle of the bullpen.

Fraser's rubbing his eyebrow, and that's never a good sign. But after a minute or two he stops, and Kowalski's nodding. Next thing is, he's heading for the door, dragging Fraser with him by body language alone.

Fraser doesn't forget me, though. He comes back over to my desk before he leaves.

"I'd still like you to come over tonight, if you'd like, Ray."

"Your place or Kowalski's place?" I ask. "Or I guess I should say, your place or your other place?"

That surprises him, but it makes him smile too.

"On Franklin, then," he says, which means Kowalski's place.

That evening, if I didn't know better, I'd say they were back to normal already. I don't know what him and Kowalski said when they talked, but I do know they're solid.

"We've cleared the air, so to speak," Fraser tells me a couple of days later.

"You haven't _solved_ anything, though, have you?"

"Solved anything?" he echoes.

"Yeah, I mean, you planning to go on like this your whole lives?"

Fraser looks puzzled.

"There's nothing we can do to change that, Ray."

"Dunno. You could -- " This is something I've been worrying about for the last few weeks. I can hardly voice it because of some stupid childish fear that that'll make it come true. "Don't you ever think of moving to Canada?"

Fraser sighs.

"Canada is not some kind of paradise, Ray, particularly not the part I'm from."

That makes me feel a bit better. Makes me feel selfish too, though.

After a few months Fraser gives up the apartment I always thought of as "Benny's place", and moves in with Kowalski completely. About time, I guess, though sometimes I miss the evenings when it was just me and Benny. Course it still is, when he comes round to mine, but I've got the whole family on top of me there too.

Anyway, things are back to normal between us. I even -- get this -- start sleeping on Fraser's couch again some nights, like I used to. Well, it's Kowalski's couch too.

I'm party to way too many of Fraser and Kowalski's arguments, and in a weird way it cheers me up. Makes me think I've been setting the bar too high when it comes to what love is.

I even go on a date, after a few months. Nice, chatty girl from Traffic. We don't quite click, but hey, I'll try again. I live in hope.

.. .. ..

END

.. .. ..


End file.
